


One Dreary Day in Croydon

by Tarlan



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: Camille believed Richard was dead, but then she sees a familiar figure on a dreary day in Croydon.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54
Collections: Happy Belated Treatmas 2019





	One Dreary Day in Croydon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiccy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiccy/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Wiccy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiccy/pseuds/Wiccy) in the [happy_belated_treatmas_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/happy_belated_treatmas_2019) collection. 



> You asked for a FIX-IT. I hope you enjoy this story. Happy Holidays!

After Richard's death Camille could no longer stay on Saint Marie. Everywhere she looked she had seen reminders of a man who had come to the island to investigate the death of the previous Inspector but who had eventually chosen to stay. At first Richard had been a fish out of water, seemingly unable to bend into the island life, but she had seem him begin to mellow as time past. She still smiled fondly when she saw a businessman in a dark suit and tie in the middle of a Paris heat wave, or when she overheard an English tourist demanding tea.

When she looked back at their association it was hard to believe it had started with such animosity. They had both believed they were being punished when assigned to the small police department in Honoré. She had disliked the pompous, uptight, stiff-upper-lip attitude of the new Inspector, feeling she had far greater experience than him in such a position. She had felt a personal sense of satisfaction whenever she figured out a clue first or showed him the error of his English ways. It had taken time but the resentment and distrust had waned beneath a growing respect for a man who could take the pieces of a complex puzzle and slot them all together to reveal the true motive and method of a murder.

It all changed so gradually that it took a while before she realized she had fallen in love with him... and then he was murdered.

Her world had crashed down around her, made worse because he had pieced together the clues of his own impending murder, not even allowing her the satisfaction of finding out the killer for herself so she could look them in the eye... and spit on them. Anger, rage, denial, grief, pain, and loss. That was all she saw in Saint Marie now so the transfer back to an undercover team in France had come as a blessing.

This particular case had taken her to England, to Richard's hometown of Croydon. It was dreary and miserable compared to the beauty of the island; gray skies instead of blue, cold and damp rain instead of the balmy heat of a tropical sun.

Now it seemed even more of a curse as she followed someone who looked the spitting image of the man she had loved and lost. Even the mannerisms were identical, and so English it was painful to watch.

The man entered a small cafe, shaking the rain off his coat before sitting down at an empty table. He pulled a book from his bag and the pang of sadness struck her again as she recalled how often she had seen Richard with a thick novel in his hand.

Part of her wanted to walk away now and pretend it was Richard alive and well, not wanting to feel the disappointment and heartache of losing him again. Yet another part of her simply needed to see the truth of this mistaken identity and deal with it, so she walked inside and up to the table, sinking down onto the chair opposite.

The man looked up in surprise at the intrusion, and Camille pulled back in surprise too.

"Richard?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You are not dead?"

He looked flummoxed. "Dead?" His eyes narrowed. "If this is some paltry attempt at a shakedown then I need to inform you-"

"Richard? Do you not know me?"

"Of course not," he replied indignantly but Camille could read both indecision and curiosity in his eyes. "How did you know my name? Have you been following me?" He started to look around, possibly for someone, a police officer, to intercede on his behalf.

"Richard. Inspector Richard Poole."

"Yes. Well, not exactly an inspector anymore. Retired."

For a moment Camille was not certain which was worse, Richard dead, or Richard alive but unaware of who she was, but she shook off the silliness. Alive was best because alive she could remind him of who she was and what they had meant to each other towards the end.

He looked uncomfortable in her presence at first but slowly mellowed as she spoke to him about Saint Marie, and the police station in Honoré. She spoke of Dwayne and Fidel, of Commissioner Patterson, of the bar owned by her mother, Catherine. She spoke of his love for tea and puzzles, and Harry the lizard. As she talked she could see flickers of memories clear the cloudiness in his eyes.

"I had an accident," he interrupted. "I was poisoned and they thought I was dead. It was a paralytic agent... but I lost three years of my life. I kept recalling heat and a sandy beach but I thought it was a dream or a holiday memory because there's nothing like that in Croydon."

"It was real. It is where you belong now, Richard. Not here in this gray world."

He searched her face keenly for the first time, forehead creasing. "Camille?"

Her heart sang. "Yes! Camille Bordey."

"Camille. My God, I thought it was all a dream, or a nightmare. I mean... heat, sand, and no one served a decent cup of tea. Hardly paradise to an Englishman. Why didn't anyone tell me it wasn't a dream?"

"If you are retired you have no reason to stay here. Come home to Saint Marie. Come home with me," she begged.

Of course nothing was ever that easy with Richard and one conversation was never going to gain a spontaneous action from him. He was stubborn and pompous, typical Englishman, and it took her many hours of photographs and recounting memories before she got him to even agree to taking a vacation in Saint Marie.

"They lost my bloody suitcase! What's the point of having a baggage carousel if there is never anything on it!"

She grinned as she gestured him into the passenger seat of her mother's car, wondering if she should mention this was the third time they had lost his luggage, so perhaps they did have a personal vendetta against him. He quieted as they made the drive from the airport through what must have once been the familiar sights of the island.

Two weeks later Richard cancelled his flight back to dreary Croydon.

Two months later they moved into a small villa with a view of the crystal clear blue ocean.

Six months later she wore white as they married in the small Honoré church with their island friends surrounding them.

END  



End file.
